


Overextended

by ilookedback



Series: Hyggetober Challenge Ficlets [14]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Baby Yoda Needs a Hug, Clothes Sharing, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, F/M, Hugs, Mild Yearning, and also, din is new to having people other than himself to think about, everybody needs a hug, just very mildly angsty, physical affection, sort of Emotional Hurt/Comfort, tiny mention of, you don't know until you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27044047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilookedback/pseuds/ilookedback
Summary: He hadn’t known she could move so fast. He only catches a glimpse of her expression before she is on top of him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. His hands catch her, automatically, before his brain can quite process it, and then he hears her voice waver as she says, “Kriff, I thought you’ddied,” and he finally realizes. That the detoured route and the delayed return and the malfunctioning commlink between them were heavier burdens to her than to him. That while he had faith in her ability to take care of herself and the child, and in the ship’s security protocols to keep them safe in his absence, her own blind trust in his survival skills did not extend all the way to hour 36 past the time he’d been due back.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Hyggetober Challenge Ficlets [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952407
Kudos: 62





	Overextended

**Author's Note:**

> For day 14 of my Hyggetober Ficlet Challenge, which is based off of [this prompt list](https://www.instagram.com/p/B201-j7ljdU/?igshid=1pflwcl5260me) and will span several Pedro fandoms. Today's prompt is "hug."
> 
> Same universe as [Overheated](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26946697), but can be read as a standalone fic.

It isn’t that he loses track of the days. He knows better than that. But he doesn’t fully realize the difference it will make when the quarry he’s tracking takes the long way round and the hunt runs longer than expected by a day and a half. He doesn’t understand the impact of his delay, until he re-enters the Razor Crest and sees her face.

He hadn’t known she could move so fast. He only catches a glimpse of her expression before she is on top of him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. His hands catch her, automatically, before his brain can quite process it, and then he hears her voice waver as she says, “ _Kriff_ , I thought you’d _died_ ,” and he finally realizes. That the detoured route and the delayed return and the malfunctioning commlink between them were heavier burdens to her than to him. That while he had faith in her ability to take care of herself and the child, and in the ship’s security protocols to keep them safe in his absence, her own blind trust in his survival skills did not extend all the way to hour 36 past the time he’d been due back.

Something pulls at his pant leg and when he looks down, angling his head over her shoulder, the child is there, looking up at him with doleful eyes, one hand clutching his leg and the other reaching up, asking to be held.

He takes a breath and runs a hand soothingly over the girl's back, reaching the other behind his neck to gently grab her wrist and guide her back an inch. “Give me a minute,” he murmurs, and finally she steps away. He leans down to scoop up the child and passes him to her, brushing his fingertips over the baby’s ear, and the child makes a brief, unhappy noise as he turns away but then he goes quiet.

There is an unconscious bounty to be locked away. There is his aching back in need of stretching and his grimy skin in need of a shower. There is food other than dry protein packets to be prepared in the galley and consumed on his own. There is a ship to be flown and a new destination to be reached and sleep to be had.

And there are hearts to be soothed.

He carries the bounty into the carbonite storage and stows it there. The girl and the child are watching him, tracking his movements as he crosses the floor and shuts the entryway and secures the ship. But he needs—another minute. He feels their eyes heavy on him as he stands in the corner, by a crate, and removes his armor piece by piece. He stacks it carefully, making note of a spot of scoring that will need to be buffed out, and eventually he is standing in his clothing, near as naked as he ever gets when he is not alone.

This time when he passes them again, on his way to the ‘fresher, the child lunges for him, and he catches him with a sigh and deposits the kid on his shoulder, where he sits quietly, clutching at his helmet.

He removes his gloves and washes his hands, scrubbing away the dust that has collected in the break between his gloves and his shirtsleeves. If he were alone, he’d remove his helmet and wash his face, wipe away the traces of sweat that have gathered under his cowl, but since he’s not he dries his hands, leaving them bare, and crosses back to where the girl has been standing, waiting patiently as his one minute turned into ten.

He opens his arms to her.

This time when she falls against his body, he feels her soft heat, the rounded press of her breasts against his chest and the clutch of her fingers through the back of his shirt. His arms circle her back and she burrows into him, pressing her face close to his shoulder. The baby slides down from his perch to rest between them, tucked in on the other side.

He closes his eyes. Breathes in the relief radiating from her and tries to ignore his aching back and feels how the heat of her fingers is dispersing the pain anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, and she shakes her head tightly, silent.

He sighs and lifts a hand to stroke her hair, feeling her relax infinitesimally. He has never held her like this. She has never invited him to. Now that he has her in his arms he is not sure how he can break away, already aching at the thought of pulling apart to finish cleaning up and going to eat something by himself and sleeping alone in his bunk. He thinks, if they stay like this for long enough their bodies might meld together, impossible to tell where he ends and she begins, where the weft in the matching fabric of their shirts—his own and hers stolen from his laundry—weaves together and apart. The child is nodding sleepily in the space between them, settled where their bodies meet, like one continuous resting place built for him.

She slips her hands under the back of his shirt to touch his skin and when he takes a breath he feels it shaking down to his lungs. He shifts on his feet, tightening his grip to keep her close, and it turns into a rocking motion, something you would do for a child, but the baby is already asleep and it is just. For her.

Or for them both.


End file.
